Drunk Wemma Oneshots
by convenientdistraction
Summary: Because nothing is more fun and adorable than drunk Wemma. Series of one shots to be continued.
1. Chapter 1

Will had just flicked the basketball game off, when he was startled by a very curious scraping noise out in the hallway.

Followed by a very distinct _thunk_.

His head swiveled to eye the peephole from across the room suspiciously, as he heard a tiny voice.

"Oww."

Followed by an even fainter whimper.

"Will?"

"Yes?" he called back, setting his beer down and moving towards the door in his bare feet.

"Do I live here?" the voice wondered aloud, as he reached for the doorknob.

He found her sprawled out on the floor, back slumped against the neighbors' door. He blinked a few times in confusion as her heels fell away from each other in a V-shape, revealing a very unladylike view beneath her plaid skirt.

"Hi," she laughed, tilting her head sideways. Her brown eyes widened with her smile, as though they shared some clever inside joke which he had forgotten.

"Hi there," he raised an eyebrow. "Did someone have fun tonight?"

"Yes," she shook her head in opposition, suddenly distracted by glint from the links on her bracelet. He watched her finger the chain cautiously. "Is this mine?"

He couldn't help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he moved from the doorway to slide down the wall beside her. "Miss Pillsbury, I do believe we are a little drunk."

"We are?" her eyes widened further.

"You are," he poked at her nose. "I'm glad your college friends got you home safe. To me."

"They're not my friends," she whispered as he guided her head onto his shoulder with a warm palm.

"Why is your purse sitting on the other side of the hallway?" Her glazed eyes struggled to follow the direction of his finger.

She sighed. "It was really heavy."

"And your coat and scarf. And gloves. And hat?" his finger bounced down the festive-colored trail of wool that wounds its way from the elevator to their doorstep.

"Too hot."

He laughed, kissing the top of her head. "I love you. What do you say we get you in bed? Or to the nearest toilet."

"Okay," she laughed.

She groaned a little as he pulled her up by the arms and into their apartment.

"Why don't you get changed for bed and I'll grab your stuff out of the hall, okay?" He pecked at her forehead.

"You're so pretty, Will," she announced, quite loudly, as he watched her eyes focus in on his lips. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

He bit his lip in amusement, silently wondering if she would remember any of this the next morning.

"Not as pretty as you. Now go change your clothes and I'll be in there in a second."

She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater. "Um, where are my clothes?"

"In the bedroom." He repositioned her body towards the bedroom, nudging her forward a little.

"Right, you're right," she said, stumbling in that direction.

After gathering her belongings and slipping a note of apology under the neighbor's door, he flicked off the lights in the den and wandered into their bedroom, expecting to find her zonked out on the bed or possibly the carpet.

"Emma?" he asked the empty dark room, stooping down to pick up her discarded clothing and hang it over a chair. He wandered into the bathroom to find it untouched. As he combed his fingers through his hair, feeling more than a little exhausted, her heard her giggle coming from the closet.

He pulled open the folding doors to find her standing in a very short and very flimsy green baby doll and matching lace underwear. "I found my clothes," she said proudly. Before he could protest, she leaned up on her tip toes, looping an arm around his neck as she planted her lips onto his, shoving her tongue into his mouth.

"Whoa there," he pushed back gently, not wanting to hurt her feelings but also not wanting to subject himself the odor of tequila and salsa he had tasted on her. "Are you sure you don't want something a little more comfortable?"

"I thought you liked this," she grinned, pushing him backwards onto the foot of the bed where she proceeded to straddle his lap.

"I do, I do," he swallowed. "But I'm tired. And you're drunk."

Not relenting, she ground into his lap a little too enthusiastically, oblivious to his painful wince. "Yes, I'm drunk. So let's do something crazy Will!"

"Crazy? Like what?"

"Like have sex." Her eyes squinted in concentration. "On. . .the roof."

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Sweetheart. It's January."

"Oh."

He lifted her up off of his lap, setting her on the bed.

She clapped her hands together, bouncing on her knees beside him. "We could play a game! And make it dirty!"

"Um, we have Boggle. And Uno," he replied skeptically, his heart feeling a little tug of sympathy at the sight of her deflated expression.

Just as he was about to try another round of coaxing her to bed, her chin shot down to her chest.

"We could get married," she mumbled.

"Emma," he frowned, testing a hand on her kneecap.

"Don't you want to marry me?" She looked up at him. The light from the bathroom reflecting the tinge of hope in her eyes.

"Of course I want to marry you," he assured her, resting a palm on her shoulder. "But I want it to be very special," he nudged at her chin playfully, "and I want you to be able to remember it."

"Then how come you won't ask me," she whined, pulling away from his fingertips. "We live together, and you love me," she sniffed. "What's wrong with me?" she cried, turning to bury her tears into her pillow.

Will managed to recover his senses after the initial shock of her confession and sudden turn of emotions had waned. He curled beside her, brushing her hair away to read her eyes. "Emma, sweetheart, what is wrong?"

"You don't want to marry me because you don't think I'm fun!" she wailed, hiccupping a little between sobs, as he pulled her into him.

"Did something happen tonight?"

"No," she mumbled against his collarbone.

"What did they say to you?" he ventured, pulling back a little to read her eyes.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "They just told stories." She paused. "That I wasn't in."

He squinted a little, not sure of the connection between this information and the root of her meltdown.

"I wasted," she sniffed, "my _whole _life Will. I could have been young and carefree and having fun but I just. . ."

"You just what?" He reached down, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

"I just hid in the corner like a scared little mouse," she swallowed. "And now it's too late."

"Says who?" he whispered, trailing his fingers around her elbow. "You're young, Emma. _We're_ young. And we have time to do all the things that you want to do." He kissed her nose. "All the crazy things you want to do."

"You think so?" she looked over at him skeptically, poking at his leg with her foot.

"I know so. And don't worry about what your friends tell you. Half the things I did in college were just plain stupid and I regret most of them."

"Like what," she shifted closer to him on the bed, smiling a little as she nuzzled into his neck.

"I'll tell you sometime when you'll remember the next morning," he assured her, pulling her against him.

"Aww, like what?" she mumbled against him. "You had sex on the roof or something?"

"Now that's just ridiculous," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head as she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

On the first day, Will kept his head in the toilet. She sat on the bed in her underwear, playing solitaire with a deck of cards from the concierge desk. Nibbling on the saltines from the gift shop he had refused to eat, she winced periodically as his strangled hacking bounced off the walls of their sardine can of a suite.

On the second day, his stomach and balance moderately acclimated to the motion of the ship, they ventured into the port town, pausing occasionally to take goofy pictures with plastic-coated pirate statues or an ancient-looking donkey. By noon he was shifting his legs uncomfortably in the hot sun, sighing a little too dramatically as she sorted and picked through unending piles of brightly colored beads, and shells, and fabrics to find a gift for his mother. He snapped, and she snapped back, so she went to bed early with a headache while he aimlessly dropped quarters into the slot machines.

On the third day, she sat reading under a giant red umbrella, pretending not to hear him as he coaxed her from the water. Five minutes later, she was watching her pale toes sink into the wet sand as he snuck up behind her. By the end of the afternoon, a little swallowed seawater and a very big jellyfish sighting found her in tears in the back of a cab. He mumbled sympathies into her hair while she shook the sand out of her canvas bag.

At dinner that night, they both reached for the drink menu. He thought she had taken too long to order, and she thought his head had swiveled when a painfully short hemline had strolled by. She picked at her fish while he sawed into his steak.

"I told you this was a horrible idea," he ventured, his silence slipping away with the fourth glass their waiter had brought him.

"Well what were we supposed to do?" she asked, popping the pineapple from yet another overpriced fruity concoction into her mouth, staring at the dessert cart which had started to sway unnaturally. "It was a gift. Should we have just told your parents no thanks, can you buy us a toaster?"

"Well we do need a toaster," he admitted.

"You're damn right we do."

"Oh, so suddenly that's my fault?"

"Well you broke it, so I don't see why not." She planted her elbows onto the table, leaning forward awkwardly as her tongue missed the straw by about three inches. He let out a laugh before his temper could swallow it, suddenly grinning as she blinked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She kept his stare as she sucked in determination at the frozen remnants of her drink. He bit his lip in fascination as she swatted her bangs back from her forehead.

"Tell me," she insisted.

"You're just. Really pretty."

"Thank you," she smiled.

Thirty minutes and three drinks later, he slammed her against the elevator wall, his tongue struggling to find her neck as the buttons to six different floors lit up her behind her back. She sighed into his touch, reaching blindly for his belt as the canned saxophone music blared through the overhead speaker.

When the gold doors shot open, she pushed his lips off of her collarbone, struggling unsuccessfully to pull her bra straps back up her shoulders as a woman and two small children stepped on. Emma's hand shot to her mouth, stifling a laugh when she realized that his pants were unzipped and her lipstick dotted his face. Three floors down she pulled at his hand. They stumbled into their hallway, tumbling over one another onto the bold patterned carpet. She felt his hand rest protectively on her behind as she looked up to see the elevator doors close and the passengers' eyes widen.

"I've never made love on a boat before," she grinned, wrapping her legs around his waist as he stood. His feet zigzagged down the corridor while they explored each other, kissing, and nipping, and petting imprecisely as her shoes and his jacket and belt marked the trail of their progress like breadcrumbs in the forest. She slid down his chest and groaned at his arousal as he fumbled for the keycard in his back pocket.

"Isn't there a book about that?" he mumbled, reaching for the zipper of her dress as they fell backwards onto the bed. "I will love you on a boat," he recited, quite loudly as she giggled, shifting it over her head.

"I will love you in the rain, on a train," he assured her. She buried her bottom lip in concentration as her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt while he struggled to unhook her bra.

"In the dark, at the park," he breathed, his fingers trailing from her shoulders to her knees as she felt her body shiver in response. They smiled at each other, suddenly both feeling shy. She watched him stand, wrestling his body out of the rest of his clothes, bumping into the lamp, and the wall, and their Godzilla-sized suitcase before he joined her.

"In a car, at the bar," he grinned, sprinkling her face with kisses as she scrunched her legs to slip off her panties.

"At the bar?" Her eyebrows jumped. "Adult version," he explained, aiming his lips on the peak of her breast as she scratched at his soft curls in approval.

Their laughter seeped under the doorway and into the hallway, alternating between whimpers and pants, and culminating with a few very satisfied moans. He nuzzled his face underneath her chin as she curled her body into his, rubbing the soles of her feet on his kneecaps in apology for the week's events.

"Happy first anniversary," he mumbled into her neck, feeling her pulse slow from the tug of sleep.

"Happy first anniversary," she smiled as she pulled his sunburned arms around her.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma could count the number of times her phone had rung at two a.m. on one hand. Once when her college roommate had called in tears after she had been abandoned at a concert by her boyfriend. Once when her brother had flipped off of his motorcycle and shattered his ribcage. And twice when the McKinley hockey team had somehow managed to find her unlisted number and proceeded to deliver one unanimous chorus of farts through her receiver.

So she was less than thrilled when the vibrations from her cell phone sent it dancing around on her night table and diving onto to the carpet in the middle of a school night. She flung half of her body over the side of the bed, grabbing towards the light from its screen. As she rolled back onto the bed she held the phone close to her face and blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar local number. After quickly debating whether the hockey team would risk a another month's worth of detention, she answered the call.

"Hello?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyelids with her free fingers.

A gruff voice coughed on the other end. "Uh, hello. Is this Emma?"

She was too exhausted and incoherent to care about protecting her privacy at this point. "Yes, this is Emma. Can I help you?"

Another uncomfortable cough. "Yeah, this is Phil from Phil's Fun Shack. And I've been serving drinks to your poor sap of a husband for the last four hours."

"My husband?" She frowned in the dark. "I'm sorry this is some sort of mistake."

"Oh," the voice growled. "Hold on." She heard a clunk and then a few seconds of muffled conversation as the twangy music from the bar dripped through the receiver.

"No, not a mistake, m'am. Your husband's here and his hammered ass is fifty dollars short on his tab. And his options right now are either you or the cops."

Her body tensed as her stomach churned an explanation towards her half-conscious brain. _Carl_. Of course he would still think of himself as her husband in such a drunken stupor. She hadn't heard from him in over a month, not since the day they signed the papers. He had been so strong, so respectful of her emotions and decisions. She frowned again, brushing away a tear, at the thought that his devastation had turned him to drinking.

"I'll be right there," she answered.

"He's lucky to have you," Phil huffed. "Thanks Mrs. Schuester."

She blinked up at the ceiling as the line clicked.

_Mrs. Schuester?_

Emma thought about calling back Phil and giving him a piece of her mind as she tugged her sweater over her head. When she smoothed her hair back with her fingers and wound it into a ponytail, she thought about how simultaneously satisfying and upsetting it would be to have Will spend the night in jail after pulling such a stunt. And as she fumbled through her purse for her car keys, she convinced herself that having to sub for his classes the next day was more punishment than having to play chauffeur at two a.m. What she would not allow herself to consider more thoroughly, however, was why, of all the crazy words that could have spilled out of his mouth and onto the counter of a bar, he had chosen the most puzzling four letter concoction imaginable.

_Wife_.

She shook her head as she focused her attention back on the highway.

Phil's Fun Shack looked exactly like it sounded, although the word "shack" was giving it more credit than it probably deserved. It was grease spot off the highway, a small space enclosed by dented gray metal siding, and the giant neon yellow F in Fun teetered perilously over one of the several rusty pickup trucks out front. She spotted Will's car as she pulled into the gravel lot, turning off her car and suddenly feeling very vulnerable in such a seedy spot in the middle of the night. Her heels crunched up to the front door, which flew open as a large hairy man stumbled past her and into the parking lot. Her nose scrunched at the smell of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and hot, rotting air that blasted through the door and into her face.

She squinted through the dim, smoky atmosphere and saw him. Head down against the bar with his arms tucked underneath his chin. And the look of pure contentment on his sleeping face made him seem more like a kid who feel asleep in class than a grown man who was drunk out of his mind at a bar. A bar whose previous health code violations had featured regularly in the Lima evening news and her subsequent nightmares.

A short, balding man behind the counter gave her the once-over and proceeded to poke at Will's arm with his bar rag. "Hey buddy, your wife's here," Phil grunted, smacking him on the forehead a little harder with the cloth when he didn't budge.

"Whaa?" His head jerked up and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "I'll get the money," he slurred, attempting to stand until his body slanted to the right and tumbled into a stack of wooden chairs.

"Oh god," she muttered, setting her purse on the table and pulling out her credit card as Will attempted to reassemble his mess. "I'm sorry," she said, handing Phil the card.

"Yeah well my apologies to you for having such a mess for a husband." He handed her the receipt.

She paused, debating whether to rat him out. "What exactly did he say?" She raised an eyebrow.

"This baby?" Phil laughed, pointing to Will, who was now on his hands and knees, unsuccessfully trying to pick up the giant bucket of peanut shells he had knocked off another table. "Lady I couldn't understand half of his blubbering. Just get him out of here okay? He's all yours."

She sighed, aiming a nod of acceptance at Phil and squatting down to tap Will on the shoulder.

"Will? Can we go now?"

"What?" he stammered, letting the empty peanut shells slip through his fingers as he attempted to stand again. "Em-ma?" He blinked. "What are you doin' here?"

"Cleaning up your mess," she explained, catching his shoulder with her palm as he bumped into her. "Apparently that's what a wife is supposed to do."

"Whose wife?"

"Yours. I guess you forgot to tell me that we got married. Or that we were even dating."

"Who said that?" He blinked, threading his fingers through hers as she led him out the door.

"You did." She rolled her eyes a little.

"No, no. That was Carl. Carl said that."

She stopped, letting her hand slip out of his. "Carl?"

"Yes, the guy. At the bar."

"Phil?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Phil."

She shook her head as he pulled at the passenger door. "No. Get in the back."

"Aww. What?"

She slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "No Will, If you're gonna throw up I want it to be in the backseat."

He chuckled, opening the back door and climbing in sideways to fold his body across the seat. "You're jus' worried," he mused aloud.

She looked at him through the rearview mirror. "Excuse me?"

"You're worried. Cause you wanna kiss me."

She turned her head in amusement. "I want to kiss you?"

"Ezzacly," he nodded, his cheek smashed against the window and his eyes closed as his hands waved clumsily to emphasize his point. "You always wanna kiss me."

"Because we're married," she deadpanned, pulling back onto the highway.

"No, because I'm hot. Really hot."

"Oh, okay, thanks for clearing that up."

"No problem," his lips mumbled against the window as he fell back asleep.

She sighed, too tired to argue with him as she drove back through the empty town.

"Will," she pleaded, tugging futilely at his shoe in the parking lot of his apartment complex. "We're here. Please get out."

"S'okay I'm gonna sleep here," he mumbled against the backseat.

"You can't sleep in my car Will. I want to go home so I can sleep. It's almost 4."

"You're, you're sleep in my bed, Emma," he bargained as he struggled up out of the car.

"Ha. No, I'm not sleeping in your bed, Will."

"Okay. Okay thanks," he flashed her a dopey grin, patting her cheek playfully until she swatted his hand away.

She watched him stand and walk up the pathway to his building as she climbed back into her car. And she thought she was home free until he reached into his pockets, dropping his keys onto the ground. And she spit out a laugh as he squatted down, teetered hopelessly, and fell promptly off the porch and into the bushes.

"You're such a mess," she muttered, bending over his form in the bushes as she pulled at his arm.

"I'm sorry," he blubbered, swiping his cheeks as he struggled frantically to fit his keys into the door. "I'm so so sorry and you're mad and I-"

"I'm not mad," she shook her head, steadying his hand with her fingers as they turned the key together. "I'm just tired, Will. Very, very tired."

He rested his other hand on top of hers as he looked down at her. "I'm sorry. About Carl," he ventured softly.

She jerked her hand away from his as she felt her heart flutter a little. "Carl? The bartender?"

"No. Dentist."

"Oh, well, I'm, I'm okay," she stammered, pushing open the door. "It's fine. I'm fine. It just wasn't meant to be."

He nodded drowsily, stepping into the door. "Yeah that's what Carl said."

"What?" her eyes widened. "Carl said that? When?"

"Tonight."

She blinked in confusion. "Carl was at the bar."

"Ya, he works the bar. Carl works at the bar."

She sighed in relief as she patted his arm in sympathy. "Phil."

"Ya, thatswut I said."

"Good night Will."

"You're not gonna come in?"

"No, Will, I'm going home."

"When we're married you're coming in."

"I thought we were already married."

"No, not yet."

"What about tonight?"

"Jus practice."

"Practice for when we're married and you go out and get drunk?"

"No just kissing."

"Will, we haven't kiss-" She stopped his lips with the palm of her hand. "Nice try mister."

He sighed. "Why are you here?"

"Because I didn't want you to get arrested."

He shook his head. "Why are you here?"

She felt her chest tighten as she search for a safer answer than the one he wanted and the one she knew was true.

"Because I'm your friend," she looked down at the ground.

He frowned, reaching to cup her cheek with his palm and guide her eyes back towards his own, which she noticed shined with a certain drunk-induced clarity.

"Will you kiss me when we're married?"

She left a single nod imprinted in his palm, swallowing the words she knew he would have forgotten by morning anyway.


End file.
